“What time?”
His question brings me back to reality. “Um, five?”
“Perfect. I’ll knock then.”
I stand frozen as he heads into his own place.
Holy shit. Did that really just happen?
“What was I thinking?” I grumble to myself, standing over the stove stirring risotto. “What if he hates what I cook? Or has food allergies? Good going, Emilia.”
I know I look absolutely insane talking to myself in the kitchen, but I can’t seem to keep my thoughts caged in my mind.
Looking at the clock I have thirty minutes before he’s supposed to show up which gives me enough time to put the salmon in the oven and change out of my comfy clothes into something a little nicer. I’ll probably put jeans on, and I might even go all out and put on a blouse, but I doubt it. It’s not like I’m trying to impress him. Despite our brief conversations I’m brutally aware my growing crush on him is ridiculous and impractical. Ridiculous because he’s clearly much older than my eighteen years and would never be interested in someone like me who lacks experience in every shape and form. Impractical because he’s my neighbor. I’m going to see him from time to time and a crush complicates things. Besides, if I’m honest with myself, I need a friend since Molly’s gone and Hayden seems like the best option. Granted, he might not want to be my friend.
I can feel my thoughts wanting to derail and I need to stop. Overthinking is the bane of my existence. It makes it hard to be present in the moment because I’m too concerned about what comes next or how someone might interpret something I did or said.
Taking a deep breath, I focus on the risotto. When it finishes, I slide the salmon in the oven and run to my room, grabbing a pair of jeans from the drawer. Kicking off my sweatpants I slip into the jeans and then try to figure out my shirt situation.
Swiping through all my shirts hanging in my closet I let out a groan of irritation. Why am I so boring?
I hear a telltale knock from the living area and know changing my shirt is a bust at this point. Thankfully I didn’t spill anything on my Mickey Mouse shirt in the process. Tying it at my waist in a knot so it doesn’t hang on me like a pillowcase. He already saw me looking like a hobo once today.
Hurrying out of my room before he can knock again, I take one second to gather myself before opening the door.
“Hi.” My voice sounds way too breathy and excited.
“I brought wine. I wasn’t sure if you even like wine, but I didn’t want to show up empty-handed.”
“Oh.” I step back, allowing him entry. “I … thank you.”
I’m surprised I look old enough to drink. I’ve always believed I had too much of a baby face. But Hayden doesn’t seem to see me as young and that is a breath of fresh air.
While I tend to the door Hayden strolls into the apartment, his eyes bouncing from the blush pink throw pillows to the tiny cactus on the coffee table to the twinkle lights hanging in the window I put up last night on a whim.
His gaze drifts back to me and I find myself holding my breath in anticipation of what he thinks.
“This place is cozy.”
“Thanks. We haven’t even been here a week, so I’ve been trying to make it feel like home.”
“We?” He asks casually, setting the wine on the island.
“My roommate. Molly. We’ve been friends since we were little. Practically family.”
I hope one of these days I’ll stop running my mouth around him. His large commanding presence intimidates me, but any man who spotted a woman in distress and was kind enough to invite her to eat with him in peace has to be a decent human being.
The timer goes off, causing me to scurry over to the oven and remove the salmon. I set it on the trivet I have waiting and plate our dinner.
“This smells amazing.”
“Thank you.” There’s not a lot in this world I’m confident at, but cooking is one of them. I’ve always loved coming up with new recipes and seeing how they turn out. Sometimes it works in my favor, in others not. I pass him a plate and set mine down in front of the empty stool. “I don’t have wine glasses,” I admit, seeing the wine bottle sitting lonely on the counter.
“Anything will work.”
I cringe, opening the cabinet the glasses are in. “Any of these?”
He stands, walking around the island. He towers above my five-feet five-inches. He’s easily six-three or even six-four, but instead of feeling intimidated by his size I find myself wanting to get even closer. The scent of his woodsy cologne draws me in at the same time he reaches up for a glass and my head collides with his chest.
He chuckles. “Sorry about that.”
“No, I am. I’m so clumsy.” I take a step away from him, shocked by my behavior.
“I’ve never had wine out of—” he pauses, assessing the glass he chose. “Is this a glass milk bottle?” He arches a brow, looking at the bottle in confusion.
“Yes,” I draw out the word.
“Why do you have these?”
I sigh, pulling utensils out of the drawer. “For the aesthetic.”
“The aesthetic,” he repeats. “Interesting.” A tiny smile dances on his lips and he sits back down pouring wine into the milk bottle. “Any for you?”
“No but thank you.”
I’ve had a sip of wine here and there, but I’ve never been fond of the taste. Grabbing a can of Olipop strawberry vanilla I join him at the island. It sucks we have to sit side by side but while the condo has three bedrooms it’s lacking in living space and there’s no room for a table.
“This is nice … more than nice,” he admits, looking down at the meal I prepared. He glances at me with a half-smile. “Until the other night at the restaurant with you it’s been too long since I sat down and ate a meal with another person.”
“Why?” I take a bite of risotto and thank God it’s cooked to perfection. Once I made it and it turned into a mushy ball. “Surely you’ve been on dates?”
Seriously? You’re asking about his dating life? Intrusive, much?
“No,” his head drops in a melancholy way, “I gave up on dating a while go.”
“Why is that?”
He raises the milk bottle to his lips. While it should be comical, someone drinking wine out of a glass milk bottle, he makes it look somehow sophisticated and purposeful.
He turns to me, green eyes serious. “It was either never the right person or not the right time.”
“Hmm,” I hum, stirring my broccoli into my risotto. “Sounds to me like you’re afraid of commitment.”
“No, it’s not that.” He stares at his plate seriously for a moment before his eyes drift back to mine looking a little lost. “I don’t want to settle when I know something isn’t quite right. Life’s too short for second best.”
“Wow, I’ve never thought about it like that.”
“You’re young, you have a lot of years to figure it out still.”
“Do you have it all figured out?” I challenge.
His expression turns thoughtful. “I guess not. Every age has new challenges that accompany it.”
“How old are you?” I dare to ask.